The Day
by YanksLuver
Summary: It's the anniversary of the death of Vaughn's father and he tells Sydney the details of that fateful day.


Title: The Day  
  
Author: Steph (ILUVNYYANK@aol.com)  
  
Category: Drama with romantic overtones  
  
POV: Vaughn  
  
Summary: It's the anniversary of the death of Vaughn's father and he tells Sydney the details of that fateful day.  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Archive: Sure, just let me know where.  
  
Spoilers: "Parity", "Spirit", "The Confession", and "Rendevous". I think that's it.  
  
Disclaimer: Alias and its characters do not belong to me. I do this out of  
  
a love for the show and no infringement is intended.  
  
Note: Hey, everyone! Long time no see! Or, I guess that would be write. Hmm, whatever. Anyway, I have no idea when Vaughn's father died, so let's just say that it was pretty soon. Springtime. Okay, that's it. Hope you enjoy it and please let me know what you thought! ~Steph  
  
  
  
* * * The Day: Part 1/1 * * *  
  
  
  
It's funny how memory works. There are some days that you'll remember forever; most others fade away before the sun sets on the next.  
  
The days you remember forever start out like any other. They begin with the same routine you know by heart, the same normal, everyday activities you take for granted.  
  
The days you remember forever are so clear it's almost as if they just happened. You remember details, the smallest details that seemed insignificant at the time.  
  
I can remember everything about that day, right down to what I ate for breakfast and the cartoon I watched that afternoon.  
  
Cheerios and Bugs Bunny.  
  
But I'd be hard pressed to tell you what I had for breakfast yesterday or what I watched on television the day before.  
  
There are things you will remember forever; moments in time that are like snapshots in your mind.  
  
The grass needed cutting.  
  
I was wearing jeans and a blue t-shirt.  
  
The ice cream man was out of popsicles.  
  
Mom's mascara ran when she cried.  
  
Most days come and go, they blur together until they are unrecognizable. But, occasionally, a memory will be born from those normal days.  
  
Your brother breaking the window in the attic.  
  
The grand slam you hit when you were nine.  
  
Grandma falling into the pool with her clothes on.  
  
Those memories remain with you, but the days do not. The memories are isolated, the details of the day they occurred on gone long ago.  
  
The days you remember forever are the ones that changed your life when you never saw it coming.  
  
  
  
* * * *  
  
She enters the warehouse and offers me a cheery smile. I try to return the gesture.  
  
I apparently fail because the first words out of her mouth are, "What's wrong?"  
  
I lower my eyes to the ground. "Nothing, I'm fine."  
  
She takes a step closer and I can feel her eyes burning holes into my forehead.  
  
"Vaughn, please," she says so softly I barely hear her.  
  
There's no use in denying it again; I will eventually give in. I've become increasingly aware of my inability to deny her anything.  
  
"Today is the anniversary of my father's death," I say quietly.  
  
I hear her inhale sharply. I raise my eyes up to meet hers. Her brow is furrowed, something she does when she is upset.  
  
She removes her eyes from mine. "I'm sorry."  
  
"You don't have anything to be sorry about," I reply.  
  
Most people say that as a way of offering sympathy. Sydney said it because she harbors guilt over her mother's actions.  
  
I go on, "You aren't your mother, Sydney. You're not responsible for her actions."  
  
A long silence follows before she breaks it.  
  
"Vaughn," she begins softly, as she slowly lifts her eyes to meet mine. "Tell me about the day you found out your father died."  
  
I lower my eyes, "Sydney, don't do this to yourself."  
  
"Please, I just...As much as I know that my mother wasn't the woman that I thought she was, a part of me just can't let go of that idea of her. It still seems so real to me. I've heard the terrible things she did and I saw how cold she was on that tape, but none of it seems as real as my memories of her. I guess I just need to hear how her actions affected the lives of others. I need you to make it real for me."  
  
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the memories not to come rushing back to me.  
  
I remain quiet and she finally breaks the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. "I...I'm sorry, it was unfair of me to ask you to do that. It's not right of me to ask you to relive that day in order to help me. Just forg-..."  
  
"It's okay," I say softly, as I lift my head and meet her eyes. "I'll tell you."  
  
She scans my eyes quickly to be certain I am sure and then nods.  
  
I focus my eyes on the ground as I begin. Suddenly, I am eight years old again and back in that day.  
  
"It was a really nice day. Sunny, but not hot...One of those days where you could stay outside all day and play. My older brother and I were playing catch in the front yard. I remember looking at my glove and thinking that I needed a new one. The webbing on mine was starting to break. I made a mental note to ask Dad to take me to the store when he got back from his business trip." My voice trails off and I realize how dry my mouth feels.  
  
I swallow hard and clear my throat before going on, "I remember this big black car pulling into our driveway. My brother and I stopped throwing the ball so that we could see who they were. Two men got out of the car. They both wore long, beige trench coats and black suits. I remember looking at their faces and wondering when the last time was they had smiled. They both had hard faces, worry lines clearly etched into their foreheads. One had red hair, the other was a blonde. The redhead was shorter and heavier. We watched them walk up to our front door and ring the doorbell. While they waited, the blonde looked back at me and my brother. I noticed his expression soften slightly before he turned away. I'd later realize that look was one of sympathy."  
  
I stare at my hands and notice for the first time that I am wringing them together.  
  
I have my father's hands.  
  
I swallow again and then continue, "My mother answered the door after the second ring. I can still see her face when she saw them. She knew right away, before they said a word. Her face paled and her mouth dropped open. I saw her knees nearly give way, but she managed to steady herself. Then they told her. We couldn't hear anything from where we were and we could only watch as the two men followed my mother, who was now crying, into the house and closed the door behind them. I remember turning to my brother and asking him what he thought that was about. He just shrugged and said that some old person Mom knew had probably just died. I knew better, but I guess I didn't want to admit it to myself yet. We went back to playing catch."  
  
I raise my eyes up and meet her. I notice how they are glassy from tears held back.  
  
She swallows hard before speaking, "Did your mother tell you what happened?"  
  
I nod and lower my eyes again, "Yeah, but not right away. The men left about an hour later and my mother called us into dinner. I remember asking my mother who they were and what they wanted. She told me they wanted to sell her encyclopedias. To this day, I think that's the only time she ever lied to me."  
  
I take a deep breath and then continue, "We sat there and ate dinner. My mother acted like nothing was wrong. She asked if we had fun that day and she joked with us. But there were moments where she would just sit there and stare into space. I knew something was wrong. It wasn't until we were getting ready for bed that she gathered the strength to tell us. She sat us both down and told us that our father was dead. We wouldn't find out for a couple of days that he was a C.I.A. agent, who was killed in the line of duty."  
  
I lift my head and find Sydney wiping at her eyes. Her voice is thick with emotion, "That must have been terrible for you."  
  
"You lost your mother as a child too, Sydney. You know what that feels like."  
  
She removes her eyes from mine, as if she is somehow unworthy of the comparison.  
  
"How did you react?" she asks quietly.  
  
"I didn't cry," I reply huskily. "I didn't cry when my mother told me, I didn't cry at the funeral. I didn't cry until..." I pause abruptly and squeeze my eyes shut. "It was about a month later and my mother called me into her bedroom. She said that she had something to give me. She handed me a box and told me that my father had bought it for me for my birthday before he died. My birthday was still a month away, but she said she knew he'd want me to have it now. I opened the box and there was a brand new baseball glove. The best of its kind. I took that to bed with me that night and cried for the first time."  
  
I rub at my eyes to keep the tears from slipping out.  
  
I suddenly feel very vulnerable. I've never opened up this much to anyone about...anything.  
  
"It's nice that you have something to remember your father by," Sydney says.  
  
"I don't," I reply in a low voice.  
  
I don't have to look at her face to know that her forehead is creasing in confusion. "Why not?"  
  
I shake my head regretfully, "I was stupid. After my mother gave me that glove, I got angry. I was upset that he left me and that we wouldn't be able to play catch together with my new glove. I was irrational and stupid, and I gave it away. I gave it to Tommy Wagner, a kid who lived down the street from me. He'd always wanted a glove, but his father wouldn't buy him one. By the time I realized the mistake I'd made, a couple of months later, Tommy and his family had moved away."  
  
I raise my eyes up and meet her gaze. Her eyes are rimmed in red, two streams of tears strolling down her cheeks.  
  
"I am so sorry for what she did to you and your family," she says as she chokes back a sob.  
  
"I know you are," I reply softly.  
  
"If I could change any of it, I-..."  
  
"It's a part of me, Sydney," I say, cutting her off. "It's made me the man I am today. I'd give just about anything to have just one more moment with my father, but I can't. The only thing I can do is remember what he stood for and do my best to be even half the man he was."  
  
She smiles slightly. "I never met your father, but I know you and I feel confident that the man you've become has more than honored his memory."  
  
I smile, my face reddening from the compliment.  
  
We remain there for a few moments in silence, before getting to the business that brought us here.  
  
* * * *  
  
"You want to catch a movie tonight?" Weiss asks me, as he suddenly appears by my side and begins strolling with me down the hallways of our office building.  
  
"Don't you have a woman you could ask that question?" I reply.  
  
"Yeah, but all of the women I know hate Spider-Man."  
  
"How can you hate Spider-Man? He has Spidey sense."  
  
"I know. I even tried to change their minds by pointing out that Kirsten Dunst where's a wet shirt with her nipples showing, but it didn't work."  
  
I chuckle, "Really? I can't imagine why."  
  
"I don't know. It's certainly a selling point for me," he responds with a shrug of his shoulders. "So, how about it?"  
  
"Sorry, can't. I...have something I need to do tonight," I say, my voice lowering.  
  
"Why so cryptic? What're you going to a strip joint or something? I know how ashamed you get about going to those places. If that's it, just tell me, because I am there, man. I broke a ten at lunch and I have dollars to spare."  
  
I manage a weak smile. "It's nothing like that."  
  
He holds his hands up in defeat. "Fine, don't tell me."  
  
He follows me into my office and we both stop when we see a package on my desk. It's a simple white box with a small red bow on top of it.  
  
"Ah, looks like someone's got an admirer. Let's hope it's not one of those Fatal Attraction types. I had one of those, not fun. Well, it was fun for a little while, but then it just got creepy."  
  
I'm only half-listening to him, my eyes securely focused on the box. My curiosity gets the best of me and I walk over to the box. I lift its top and smile at what my eyes land on.  
  
It's my glove.  
  
It looks almost the same. A little worn, but almost like new. Brown, with black trim, gold lettering.  
  
I shake my head in amazement. How did she do this?  
  
I feel Weiss's presence over my right shoulder.  
  
"A baseball glove? Your admirer gave you a baseball glove?"  
  
"She's not my admirer," I reply absentmindedly.  
  
"Well, at least it's a she, which should put to rest those nasty rumors that have been floating around here."  
  
"Very funny. And you started those rumors," I respond, as I pull the glove out of the box and examine it.  
  
"Hey, I get bored sometimes, I can't be held responsible for my actions."  
  
I try to place the glove on my hand, but I can only get half of it on.  
  
"So, does this glove has some sort of significance or what?"  
  
"You could say that."  
  
"Who sent it to you?"  
  
I turn around to face him and grin, "Oh, yeah, you'd love that, wouldn't you? Then you could bug me about that for the rest of my life."  
  
"Fine, don't tell me. It's not like I can't figure it out for myself. Not that many females have access to your office. I'm sure I can narrow it-..." he stops abruptly, his eyes lighting up.  
  
That's the same look he gets whenever he thinks he's come up with a brilliant plan.  
  
He shakes his head, "Wait a minute. It's from Sydney, isn't it?"  
  
"I didn't say that."  
  
"You didn't have to."  
  
"Look, just forget it, okay?"  
  
"This is how you heed my warning about her? This is how you try not to make it personal?"  
  
"It's not what you think."  
  
"So, Sydney did not just give you a gift then?"  
  
I sigh, "She did."  
  
"Then how exactly is it not what I think?"  
  
"Look, she was just being nice, all right? It doesn't mean anything."  
  
He rubs his hand across his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut, "Oh, Haladki is going to have a field day with this one. You're going to be visiting Barnett so often that you'll probably achieve V.I.P. status."  
  
I groan, "Just drop it, okay. No one needs to know about this except for us. If you don't tell anyone, then no one will find out."  
  
"Haladki found out about the Christmas gift you gave Sydney. People have a way of finding things out around here, Vaughn. There kind of good at that, with all that intelligence training and all."  
  
He offers me one last disappointed shake of his head and exaggerated sigh, before turning on his heel and leaving.  
  
I look back down at the glove. I can't help but smile, despite Weiss's attempt to rain on my parade.  
  
This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me.  
  
* * * *  
  
I walk through the cemetery, the smell of the flowers on the trees filling my senses.  
  
I near the spot where he rests, but stop abruptly when I see her.  
  
Kneeling in front of my father's gravestone, is Sydney.  
  
I slowly approach her and stand beside her.  
  
She doesn't acknowledge my presence until I kneel beside her.  
  
"I didn't expect to see you here," I say, as I extend my hand out and brush some dirt off of the top of the stone.  
  
"I didn't expect to see you here either," she replies.  
  
"I couldn't bring myself to come last week." I pause and then ask, "So, what are you doing here?"  
  
She turns to me and smiles delicately, "I thought it was about time I met your father."  
  
I return the smile, before lowering my eyes. "He would have liked you, Sydney, He would have liked you a lot."  
  
"I know I would have liked him," she responds, her hand reaching out to touch the letters in my father's name.  
  
I offer her a sideways glance, "Thank you."  
  
She turns to me. "For what?"  
  
I smile slightly. "You know what."  
  
A smile overtakes her lips. "You're welcome."  
  
"How did...How did you ever find it?"  
  
She offers me a grin, "I'm a double agent, Vaughn, I have my ways."  
  
I drop my head, my smile widening. "Well, thanks again." I lower my voice as I say the next part, "No one's ever done anything like that for me before."  
  
I can see her smile out of the corner of my eye, but she doesn't respond.  
  
We stay there in silence for a few minutes before she speaks, while starting to lift herself up off the ground. "Well, I better get going. I'm sure you want to be left alone with-..."  
  
I lift my hand up and place it in hers. She stops in mid-motion, her knees still slightly bent.  
  
I never meet her eyes as I speak. "Actually, I'd like it if you stayed."  
  
I can feel her eyes on me and I know she's surprised by the request. I slowly feel her body slide down next to mine.  
  
Our hands remain linked together as we sit silently in front of my father's grave.  
  
It's then that I realize that nothing's ever felt quite so right before.  
  
There are days you remember forever; it's just that sometimes those days are remembered for the better.  
  
******************************************THE END*********************************************  
  
Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you thought! ~Steph 


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